The Chain of Destiny (15 page)

This annoyed her. ‘I have no intention of falling out with you, Professor, you have been very kind to me and I'm grateful, although I must say you have made it very difficult for me to thank you.'

‘Have I?' he smiled a little. ‘Do the clothes fit?'

She refrained from breaking into a paean of delight about them. ‘Perfectly, thank you. If you will let me have the bill, I will pay you back when I get a job.'

He agreed carelessly and got up to get her a drink, but he had barely sat down again when Cobb came in to say that he was wanted on the phone. And when he came back after a few minutes it was to say that he would have to go out again and would probably not be back for dinner. ‘So I'll say goodbye, Suzannah. I have asked my aunts' doctor to take a look at that hand, and in the meantime you can decide what you want to do.'

She stared at him. How on earth was she to get a job, or even start looking for one, without a penny in the world? She hadn't the price of a stamp, let alone the money to take her to any interview she might be lucky enough to get. She had an urge to fling herself on to his great chest and tell
him that, but all she did was sit very upright in her chair and wish him goodbye in a quiet voice.

It took her completely by surprise when he came over to her chair and bent and kissed her quite savagely before he went.

‘Well,' said Suzannah, and, since she was bereft of words, ‘Well, whatever next?' The answer to the question came out of the blue to shock her. There would be nothing next; he didn't like her, he found her a nuisance, and it was his misfortune that she invariably ended up on his doorstep. And, far worse, she had fallen in love with him. ‘And I can't think why,' she told Horace and Henry, for she had to tell someone and there was no one else there. ‘He's tiresome and ill-tempered and impatient, and he must hate the sight of me.'

A good cry would have been a comfort, but Cobb came in then to tell her that dinner was waiting, so she went to the dining-room and ate her lonely meal, choking down tears with the delicious food, and presently, with the plea that she was tired, she went to bed.

‘What time do we go in the morning?' she asked Cobb as she wished him goodnight.

‘We're to be there for lunch, miss. If we leave around ten o'clock, that should give us plenty of time. Mrs Cobb's found a case for the rest of your things, and we wondered about Horace…?'

‘Oh, do you suppose that Lady Manbrook would mind if I took him with me? I expect I'll have that little flat again…'

‘I couldn't say, miss, but I'm sure no one would object to Horace—a well-behaved cat.'

‘Yes, he's a great comfort to me. Thank you and Mrs Cobb for looking after him so very well.'

‘A pleasure, miss. Henry will miss him.'

She went upstairs to bed and lay thinking about the future. Something domestic, she decided, for there was always work for such; for the moment she would have to give up her idea about training as a nurse. First she must save some money and find herself and Horace somewhere to live as quickly as possible. It was kind of Lady Manbrook to have her, but she had no intention of staying a day longer than she had to. She was already beholden to the professor, and she wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. Out of sight, out of mind, she told herself, and burst into tears at the thought of never seeing him again. Somehow that mattered far more than her precarious future.

L
ONG BEFORE
Suzannah went downstairs the next morning, the professor had left his house. She ate the breakfast set before her, gathered Horace into his basket, and, when Cobb had put her few possessions into the boot, got into the car beside him.

The journey was uneventful and rather silent. Suzannah discussed the weather at length, the state of the road and the perfection of Mrs Cobb's cooking, but presently she fell silent and Cobb, beyond the odd word now and then, didn't disturb her.

She thought it unlikely that she would see the professor again; he had wished her goodbye without expressing any hope that he might meet her in the future, and although the thought of never seeing him again was almost too much to bear, she intended to do her utmost to avoid that happening. Unkind fate had thrown her into his path and he had been too kind to ignore her; all the same, she guessed that he must be heartily sick of seeing her. Once she was at Lady Manbrook's house she would contrive to phone Mrs Coffin and persuade her to write and beg her to go to her—a broken arm, flu, varicose veins? thought Suzannah wildly; anything which would make it necessary for Mrs Coffin to call
upon her for help. Once there, she could set about finding a job, preferably miles away where she was unlikely to encounter the professor ever again. She had it all most nicely sorted out in her head by the time they reached Ramsbourne House, so that she was able to wish Cobb a cheerful goodbye and greet her hostess with calm.

Lady Manbrook and Mrs van Beuck welcomed her warmly, expressed their admiration of her conduct at the fire, commiserated with her over her burnt hand and hoped that she would stay for as long as she wished.

‘And you have brought your cat with you? He won't mind being in the house? We have given you a room with a balcony, so that he may feel free to take the air.'

Parsons took her upstairs presently, to a charming room overlooking the grounds at the back of the house. ‘It's nice to see you again, miss,' said Parsons. ‘We're all so sorry that you burnt your hand. The ladies were ever so upset.'

She tweaked the bedspread into exactitude, put Suzannah's small bag on the low chest by the closet and went away.

Suzannah took off her coat, tidied her hair and examined her room, while Horace explored his territory, decided on the most comfortable chair, and curled up and went to sleep, leaving her to go downstairs to the drawing-room to drink a glass of sherry with the old ladies before lunch.

She had no opportunity to telephone Mrs Coffin that day, nor the following day either; it would have been simple enough to walk to the village, she supposed, and phone from there, but she had no money and for the moment she had no idea how to get any. She spent the next day or two devising ways and means of getting
hold of even a few coins, enough even for a stamp, but none of them were sensible enough to carry out. And she had nothing to sell…

Life was pleasant at Ramsbourne House, slow-moving, gracious living which was very soothing. Suzannah's pale cheeks were pale no longer, her hand healed, even her hair seemed to glow more brightly, but it couldn't last, she told herself. In two days'time, she, promised herself, she would talk to Lady Manbrook and explain, and ask her if she could borrow some money from her. But first she would try and telephone; she was sure that Mrs Coffin, once she had understood how Suzannah was placed, would help.

 

The professor had had a busy week which perhaps accounted for his slightly testy manner and his thoughtful silences. Mrs Cobb, noticing this, nodded her head in satisfaction, pointing out to Cobb that she had told him so, hadn't she?

To which he replied that she was fancying things, for the professor had given no hint that he intended seeing Miss Lightfoot again. Which was true, although he had thought about her a great deal; not very willingly, it had to be said, but her small image frequently danced before his eyes, reminding him that even though she wasn't in his house, she had left something of herself behind. It had been with difficulty that he had refrained from telephoning his aunts to find out how she was, but he had eventually decided to wait for at least two weeks, and in the meantime he would see about finding her a job. There was no reason why he should do that, but the thought of her struggling to start all over again was a continuous nagging worry to him. He sat at his desk, considering what he should do; probably, he told
himself with a shrug, he would end up with Horace back with Mrs Cobb and Suzannah at the other end of the country. He frowned, for the idea didn't appeal to him.

He looked at the papers on his desk waiting for his attention and then ignored them, deep in thought and only disturbed when Cobb tapped on the door, but before he could speak he was pushed aside and Phoebe went past him to fling herself at the professor.

‘Guy—darling—it's ages since I saw you last. I'm in town to do some shopping and I thought we might go out—take me out to dinner, will you?' She jerked her head at a disapproving Cobb, still standing in the doorway. ‘He said you were busy, but you're never too busy to see little me, are you?'

The professor had got to his feet. ‘It's all right, Cobb,' he said, and pulled up a chair for his visitor. ‘This is a surprise, Phoebe. I'm afraid it's out of the question to take you out, though. I've a backlog of work which simply has to be done.'

She pouted prettily. ‘Oh, Guy—and I was certain you'd give me dinner.' She saw his bland face and changed her tactics. ‘Well, anyway, I'll give you all the news. Uncle keeps fit enough, I suppose, though I'm sure he'd be glad to see you—you must come down for a weekend soon. I've made quite a few changes, too. Old Toms doesn't approve, but who cares what he thinks? We need someone younger in his place; I'll be glad when I can find an excuse to get rid of him. Which reminds me—I saw something on the television about a fire in a kids' nursery school and that red-haired girl I sacked was on the screen with some woman or other. So she fell on her feet, didn't she? Her sort always do.'

The professor had no comment to make upon this,
and Phoebe rattled on, ‘I must say she looked positively dowdy.'

The professor leaned back in his chair and put his hands in his pockets. ‘I dare say she did. She had just been back into the fire to rescue a small boy. Her hand was burned and I found her at the hospital waiting to have it dressed.'

‘You saw her?' Phoebe said quickly. ‘How interesting.'

‘Not interesting; pathetic if you like, and extraordinary.' He ignored her sharp look. ‘She is at present staying with Lady Manbrook until she is quite well again.'

He had spoken very quietly, but something in his voice made her frown. She said lightly, ‘You sound quite concerned about her; after all, she's only a girl from the village.'

He said evenly, ‘A rather special girl, Phoebe. And now, if you will excuse me, I really have to work.'

She flounced off her chair, stood up, opened the door and saw him rise to see her to his front door. She stood a minute, looking at him, conjuring up a smile. ‘Well, I hope she gets well soon and finds a decent job. I expect meeting her unexpectedly like that was a bit of a surprise. It sounds very romantic, plunging back into the fire, and actually saving the child; no wonder you think she's a bit special…'

But, although she smiled, her eyes were cold. She didn't make the mistake of kissing him, but offered a hand and said cheerfully, ‘Don't forget to visit Uncle William some time—bye for now.'

There was a cruising taxi passing; the professor lifted an arm, crossed the pavement with her and saw her into it, and then went back to his desk. He sat there—making no attempt to work—and presently, when Cobb came to
tell him that dinner was served, he wandered into the dining-room and sat down while Cobb handed him his soup.

‘I'll be away this weekend, Cobb,' he said presently. ‘I'm spending it with Lady Manbrook.'

A titbit of news Cobb lost no time in conveying to his wife.

The professor drove himself down on Saturday morning under a lowering February sky and in the teeth of a howling wind. He had decided to break his journey and lunch on the way, for he remembered that his aunts were in the habit of taking a nap after that meal, which meant that Suzannah would probably be alone. He wasn't at all sure why he was so anxious to see her; she was, he supposed, on his conscience, and for some reason he felt bound to do something about her future.

Snow opened the door to him, took his coat, mentioned that his aunts were resting and in their rooms, but that Miss Lightfoot was in the drawing-room and ushered him across the hall.

‘I'll see myself in,' said the professor, and opened the door and walked without haste into the room.

Suzannah was sitting by the fire with Horace on her lap, her head full of ideas and plans, none of which were of any use unless she had some money. She turned round as the door opened to see who it was, and when she saw the professor said what was uppermost in her mind.

‘Would you lend me a pound?'

If he was surprised, he didn't show it; his lip twitched briefly but his voice was quite steady. ‘Of course.' He fished around among his loose change and offered two coins. ‘Though I think two pounds would be more sensible, you might lose one.'

‘I'll pay you back as soon as I've found a job.' She saw his faint smile and blushed. ‘I'm sorry, you must think I'm mad, but I was thinking that if I had some money I could telephone, or take a bus or something; you have no idea how awkward it is when one hasn't a penny piece in the world.'

‘My fault—I overlooked that fact when you came here. I do apologise.'

‘Oh, I'm not blaming you, indeed I'm not, you've done so much for me and really it must be so vexing for you, my always turning up to annoy you.'

He came and sat down opposite her. ‘But you don't annoy me, Suzannah; indeed I find that I miss you…'

A great surge of love threatened to explode in her chest, but she kept a calm face. ‘Well, perhaps you do, like missing an aching tooth!'

He laughed. ‘You're happy here? I see that your hand is better. If you will be patient for a little longer, I will see what I can do about getting you into a teaching hospital where you can live out.'

As he spoke, he was aware that he had no intention of doing any such thing; he badly wanted to have a finger in the pie when it came to her future.

He hadn't expected her refusal. ‘That's awfully kind of you, but I thought I'd get some kind of domestic work in the country; I'd quite like to go to Scotland, or if there's nothing for me there, Yorkshire. Somewhere miles away.'

He was astonished at the wave of dismay that swept through him at the news. ‘A long way for Horace,' was all he said.

‘Yes, but once we're there we'd stay.'

He said evenly, ‘So you want to start again, Suzannah? A new life with new surroundings and new friends?'

She nodded. ‘Yes, oh, yes, you have no idea how much I want to do that.'

The professor looked at her, sitting neatly opposite him, hands folded over Horace's furry body; certainly no beauty, but possessed of something most of the women of his acquaintance didn't have—charm and a certain kind of gentleness which masked a sturdy independence. And the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. He had been tolerably satisfied with his life until now, but he knew that that wasn't true any longer. Life wouldn't be the same if Suzannah were to go away; what he had supposed had been concern for a girl who had been left to fend for herself had evidently developed into something else, something he wasn't going to put a name to until he was sure, and it looked as though he would have no need to do that, for she had spoken with a quiet conviction; she wanted to go away, a long way away, too, and seeing him again hadn't entered into her head.

He was a patient man and he had made up his mind; moreover, he liked to get his own way. He said smoothly, ‘Now, let me see, I should think somewhere like York would suit you admirably—do you know the city?'

He began to talk effortlessly about that part of England, never mentioning her future; he was still chatting idly when the old ladies joined them and they had tea, talking of other things.

Suzannah, in her room, doing her face and hair before dinner, told herself that he really had no interest in her, only a polite concern, and as for his coming for the weekend, probably he did that regularly. It was heavenly to see him again, but she must get away before he came again or offered to find her work. If she were several hundred miles away, life would be so much easier. She didn't believe that, but it sounded sensible.

The evening passed pleasantly enough. The old ladies discussed art, the repairs to the church and if it would be possible to have the tapestry curtains in the small sitting-room repaired by an expert. The professor took a polite interest, while sitting watching Suzannah, his mind on other things, and presently, while they were having their coffee, he invited her with just the right amount of casualness to accompany him the next morning to his house. ‘I need to check on the barn roof,' he explained, ‘and it will be a pleasant drive even in February.'

It would have seemed strange for her to refuse. She agreed calmly and asked where he lived. ‘I thought your home was in London?'

‘Well, it is, but my home—where I was born, is at Great Chisbourne, on the edge of the Savernake Forest. I think you may like it.'

She would have liked a two-up and two-down with no mod cons if he had lived in it; but she said politely, ‘I'm sure I shall.'

They left after breakfast, a meal at which the professor had chatted about this and that without saying anything to the point, while eating with a splendid appetite. Suzannah, a prey to a fine muddle of thoughts, did her best with her scrambled eggs, crumbled toast and drank several cups of coffee while making polite replies when necessary. She was in a state of euphoria at the very idea of spending several hours with the professor, so that she was a trifle absent-minded.